


Cherry Wine

by vinoharry



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Vampire, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-02
Updated: 2015-02-02
Packaged: 2018-03-10 03:19:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3274751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vinoharry/pseuds/vinoharry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry and Zayn have lived through the last century together - how Harry's managed to hide how he feels is a mystery.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cherry Wine

**Author's Note:**

> hiiii! so this is my first ever vampire au as well as my first ever zarry au....  
> enjoy!

Harry drinks the rest of his appletini.

The vodka should burn as it goes down, but it’s cold and the pucker of schnapps is sugary enough to ward it off.

He knows what he looks like; how his hair is frizzy from the humid club air, how his shirt is hanging wide open, how his lips are shiny and puffy from the way he had been biting them, teasing Ben as he had attempted small talk.

Harry’s just met the man and he can’t say he’s all too attracted to him. He knows what he wants from him, but Ben’s got no idea yet. He has no idea what Harry’s capable of yet.

“Wanna,” Harry prompts, tilting his head towards the loo.

Ben eyes it skeptically before nodding, slipping off the stool and offering Harry his hand. It’s sweaty when Harry grasps it and whether that’s because of his damp bottle of beer or because Harry makes him nervous, he’s got no idea. He’ll assume it’s the latter.

Just as Harry’s scanning the crowd, getting ready to follow Ben to wherever he’s tugging him; his eyes catch.

It’s on Zayn, because of course it is.

Zayn with his new haircut, sides shaved and bun sitting perkily on the crown of his head. He’s not looking back though – his attention is captured by a girl with golden skin and vibrant blue hair.

For a flash of a second, blinding jealousy courses through Harry. He wishes he was the one having his neck mouthed at by Zayn, wishes he had Zayn’s thin arms around his waist as he grinded his hips into his ass. But then –

Ben tugs him, jerking him back into what he’s doing.

He doesn’t blame Zayn, they’ve both got to feed.

It just a travesty that this is how they’ve got to do it. Granted, this is the safest way, the tried and true, 100% guaranteed way to tamper the thirst that thrums through their veins.

“You’re so sexy,” Ben whispers, lips attaching to his neck and no. This is not how it’s supposed to go. Harry’s the one who’s supposed to latch on, nip and lick, and slip the tiny pill into Ben’s mouth, erase his memory and suck his blood until he feels the fire burning out.

“You too,” Harry grunts, flipping them until he’s the one that’s crowded Ben up against the wall.

Ben’s eyes light up, clearly delighted by a younger man taking control. It’s something that Zayn always teases him about; how old his pulls are. It’s not his fault though.

The older men are easy to manipulate. They’re excited by a hot young thing, excited by the idea of getting off in a dirty bathroom as if they were half their actual age. They have wives and children and their relatives are still breathing, still in contact with them and it’s – Harry’s jealous of them.

He’s never admitted it to Zayn, but he’s jealous of how these men still have lives, of how they have families and –

Harry can’t think about that now.

Instead, he focuses on digging out the baggy in his back pocket. It’s got the tiny red pill he always uses, the one spiked with a drug so strong the guys will pass out and forget the last hour.

“The fuck is that?” Ben asks, eying it.

“S’good,” Harry smirks in lieu of a response.

“There’s only one.”

Harry looks up at Ben then, he looks apprehensive. It’s no bother though, Harry’s a professional at this.

“I already took one.”

Ben’s eyes flash back to Harry and he must believe him. Harry’s pupils are blown wide, dark with the hunger for blood. It’s easily mistaken as a side effect of drugs, and it works. Ben picks up the pill and swallows it, Harry diving in to kiss him.

He’s got his hands on either side of the older man’s face, stubble rough beneath his palms as he nips on Ben’s bottom lip. He tastes like beer and whiskey, stale breath fanning across Harry’s cheekbone as he kisses down Ben’s jaw. His neck’s a bit sweaty and when Harry grips it to tip it back, Ben jerks his hips upwards.

“Yeah,” he grunts, and there’s really nothing attractive about.

Harry internally rolls his eyes, knows this will be a great story to tell Zayn when they get back tonight. Harry hurries to undo Ben’s belt, not bothering to remove it from its loops until he’s popping the button and undoing the fly.

Ben gives another grunt, Harry’s fingers grabbing around Ben’s dick until he’s coaxing it to hardness. It’s harder when the pill kicks in, when the guy’s been pumped full of alcohol.

“Feel good?” Harry asks and judging by Ben’s delirious moan, it must be. “Tell me,” he prompts.

When Ben’s unable to form a coherent sentence, Harry bares his teeth, feeling his fangs sprout into place. He loves the initial bite, loves the feeling of his teeth breaking skin, puncturing the smooth expanse until he sucks the first drip.

Ben’s blood’s not sweet, it’s not sour either. It’s just – he must be a B negative. It doesn’t taste as satisfying as Harry had thought this man would be, but at least it’s not bitter. He sucks and sucks and sucks, feels himself filling up, as the other man empties.

Harry lets go of Ben’s dick now that he’s slumping against the stall and his dick’s gone soft there’s really no more reason to be pleasuring him. When Harry’s sucked his share, he licks over the mark until the tiny wounds have healed themselves over.

Before he positions Ben on the toilet, Harry rifles through his wallet and takes out a few bills. It’s not enough to rob him, but it will buy Harry’s groceries for the next month. Harry washes his hands as if he’s just finished a wee. He creates a cup, collecting the cold water until he can splash it on his face, over his mouth.

He’s keyed up as he always is after a feed, eager to find Zayn and watch some television, maybe smoke some spliffs on the balcony as London rushes below them.

Harry buys himself a drink, another appletini, as he goes on his search of Zayn. He can’t see him anyway, hopes he hasn’t brought whoever she is into their house. Then again, they do have guidelines on how to do these sorts of things. So when ten minutes passes and Zayn still hasn’t answered his ‘where you at’ text, Harry hails a cab and goes home.

When Harry gets home, he doesn’t expect Zayn to be there. Yet, there Zayn is, sprawled half clothed on their couch with a cigarette dangling from his mouth. He grunts to acknowledge Harry’s presence, but it’s not enough. Harry loves his attention, always wants it on him and he kicks off his shoes so he can curl up around him, tucking his feet under Zayn’s thighs.

“You good?” Zayn asks.

“Yeah,” Harry nods, he pulls the bills from his pockets, splaying the stolen money on Zayn’s stomach.

“Did well,” Zayn acknowledges, taking hold of his cigarette to blow out the smoke. He wraps an arm around Harry shoulders, pulling him closer.

Harry noses at Zayn’s neck, loving how he smells like sweat and smoke. It’s so undeniably Zayn he reckons it’s engrained in his brain.

He doesn’t smell like sex in the way that Harry does. Doesn’t smell like sweat and grimy bathrooms. Zayn has a different method because of course he does. He’s beautiful and lithe and he could seduce anything just by looking at it, Harry’s sure.

Zayn doesn’t say anything as he smokes, just digs his fingers into Harry’s ribs. “You need anything?”

Harry shakes his head. He doesn’t need anything other than Zayn’s presence, Zayn stroking his curls and running his hands down his side.

“Just want to lay for a bit,” Harry admits, throwing an arm around Zayn because why the fuck not. Zayn always anchors him, always makes him feel safe and so loved.

“Kay,” Zayn rolls, stubbing his cigarette into the ashtray on the coffee table. “Just breathe H, I got you.”

Harry nods, he knows.

-

The next day, when Harry wakes up with a dry mouth and an empty stomach, Zayn’s standing against their refrigerator in a pair of white briefs.

Harry immediately stops in his tracks, taken aback by how black Zayn’s tattoos look against his skin. He turns around at the most inopportune time, a box of Coco Pops in his hand. “All right, babe?” He asks, scratching the dark patch of hair above his pants.

Harry gapes before nodding, shaking himself out of his entrancement.

“Got to head to work soon.”

Harry nods, swallowing the lump in his throat as he grabs the box from his roommate. Zayn whines, trying half-heartedly to get the box back. “You got to eat something more substantial. Chicken or summat.”

“Chicken? For brekky?”

With a roll of his eyes, Harry shakes his head, “Well not breakfast, but,” Harry licks his lips nervously, “we could grab dinner this week. Something other than pizza or curry.”

“Yeah?” Zayn teases. “You going to pay then mister big shot?”

“You’re the one with a job.”

“You have a job too, just never bloody get paid.”

It’s not that Harry needs to be paid. He’s got a hundred and sixty-three years’ worth of money in his bank account.

“I like my internship,” Harry pouts. Working afternoons at BBC is quite nice. It’s better than the multitude of jobs he had had before him and Zayn were able to settle in London. And he likes it in London, he really does.

Zayn and him had lived in Austria, Australia, Canada, India for a couple of years, before moving back to the UK once they knew they wouldn’t be remembered. Harry had suggested a roadtrip around America once motor vehicles had been invented. It was tough to drive across some of the country, roads weren’t as accessible as they were now.

“I’ve got to go.”

“Work hard,” Harry smirks, knowing that Zayn hardly has to concentrate in order to ink random people’s skin.

-

When Harry’s left to his own devices, he always thinks of Zayn.

It’s not that he’s in love with the lad – except for he kind of is.

The two of them have been together for nearly as long as Harry’s been a vampire.

Nothing romantic or sexual, but Harry’s always felt it. Always felt an electric shock when they bump fingers or when Zayn’s gaze lingers on him for that extra second.

They met when Harry was going into his seventh year of being a bloodsucker, when Zayn was an underground boxer with sewny muscles and quick reflexes. He always won by exhausting his opponents and Harry was in awe from the moment he saw him.

Zayn had had long hair, nearly flowing to his shoulders and Harry had fallen for him. His hair was short, cropped and proper like he had had it when he was a twenty one year old mortal. It feels strange to say it out loud. That he was twenty one and didn’t have any additional years. He still feels like he’s twenty one even though he’s lived through decades, fought through wars, and survived through plagues.

Regardless, Zayn was a sight to see and Harry was defenseless against the pull in his gut.

Harry approached him immediately. He was a reporter of sorts and adored anything violent and competitive. Zayn hadn’t even given him a second look so it was easy for Harry to slip into his tent, invade his privacy as Zayn changed into his long johns and button up.

When he noticed Harry it was like – it was like a jolt had gone through him and Harry felt it too. They just knew.

Zayn nodded, but he didn’t say anything until he was changed into his long coat.

“Zayn Malik,” he held out his hand.

“Harry Styles,” Harry said with a grin.

The rest, as they say, is history.

-

Its two weeks later when Harry starts to feel hungry again.

They have a rule – never get too hungry. From prior experience, it always leads to headaches, nausea, and muscle cramps as well as a compulsion to bite whoever comes near. So, when Harry starts to feel that insistent need, they feed.

Zayn seems out of sorts, too.

When they’re getting ready, he sprays extra cologne on his body, dresses in a maroon Henley that clings to his stomach and fluffs his hair before tying it into a bun atop his head. He seems to take more time than he did when he had longer hair… and that took at least an hour. Harry, in an effort to compete with his roommate’s attractiveness fluffs his hair and dresses in another open button-up. His nipples are puffy and the cross necklace he’s had for decades is cool against his chest.

Zayn hadn’t said anything to Harry after he suggested they go out. It’s got Harry on edge. He wants to have a good night with his friend, but how’s he to do that when Zayn won’t even look at him.

But they’ll all right. Zayn can get in these moods and Harry always knows how to soothe him. A touch to his lower back, an arm around his waist, burying his face in Zayn’s neck. But in the cab, Zayn doesn’t let Harry do any of that as he crowds himself against the car door, looking out the window.

He thinks he’s fine with it until they’re actually at the club.

It’s different than the one they were previously at. It’s a gay bar to begin with and Harry knows how Zayn doesn’t prefer them. He’s better at pulling the girls, but he can pull guys just as easily. He just hasn’t perfected his craft as much as Harry has.

So when Harry squeezes Zayn’s hip, tells him he’ll get them some drinks if he gets them a booth, he’s determined to get Zayn drunk enough to loosen up.

On his way back from the bar, he runs into Niall – a young, spritely vampire who’s only been around since the turn of the millennia. He’s got a tray of beers in his hand and two girls off his arm, introducing them by the wrong name, yet they don’t seem to be ruffled.

“Zayner here?” Niall asks, looking at the drinks Harry’s got.

“In a booth,” Harry nods, scanning the crowd until he finds Zayn on his phone nestled in a booth by himself.

Harry leads the way, placing a rum and coke in front of Zayn before squeezing in beside him.

Harry shouldn’t be jealous, but Zayn’s eyes absolutely light up when he sees Niall standing there. He hadn’t even acknowledged Harry, hadn’t given him a glance before he’s out of the booth to tug Niall into a headlock.

Niall, with youth and strength on his side, squirms out of his grip with minimal spillage from the beer.

“M’Zayn,” Zayn greets the girls, biting his lips in a way that has Harry’s eyes dropping to them. He licks his lips subconsciously, wanting to lick and nip and bite them until Zayn’s moaning his name, grinding his hips into Harry and –

He can’t be thinking of that now. Can’t be thinking of how badly he wants Zayn.

It’s not a new revelation.

Zayn’s the most attractive person Harry’s ever seen, and he’s seen a lot of people. It’s not just that Zayn’s gorgeous – he’s kind and gentle and he curls himself up on their large navy armchair and reads 19th century romantic poetry for hours on end.

“Haz,” Niall calls, jolting Harry out of his trance.

He hadn’t realized he was staring at Zayn so intensely until he sees the look Zayn’s giving him.

“Wanna go dance?”

“What about,” Harry starts to ask only to realize that the girls have transferred from Niall’s arm onto Zayn’s. “Yeah,” Harry nods, slurping his bellini

He doesn’t bother to look at Zayn; he has an anxious feeling he wouldn’t like what he saw if he did.

Niall starts to waggle his hips once Harry and his are immersed in the crowd. Harry’s never asked if Niall’s into blokes, but nearly every time they see him here, he’s got two girls dangling off of him and a shit eating smile on his lips. Harry wonders how he pulls, how he manages to suck their blood and get them not to say anything. If he pretends that it’s a sexual act instead of a necessity.

“You good?” Niall asks, clamping a hand onto Harry’s shoulder. Harry nods, much too sober for the look in Niall’s eyes. He looks sympathetic, almost sad. “You need a drink?”

Which is ridiculous because they just got to dancing.

Nevertheless, Harry nods. He’ll do some shots with Niall and then go back to Zayn and hang off of him for a while. Maybe he’ll go back to the dancefloor and shake and shimmy until someone approaches him and he can take them to the bathroom and feed.

Harry and Niall do a snake bite… and then another. And then the bartender spares them more than a lingering glance and Harry leans over the bar, let’s his sweaty chest be seen and that earns them another round of the potent alcohol.

It’s so quick in succession that Harry’s a bit wobbly in his seat, has to take a deep breath and blink a few times. Niall laughs at him, delightedly, as he hands Harry a whiskey sour. He’s got a large glass of beer in his hand and then Niall’s throwing a couple of bills on the counter and Harry gives a wink for a tip.

Back at the table, a tall, burly man’s sat at the table with Zayn. The girls are gone and Harry swallows any anger he feels. He can be calm about this.

“Who’re you?” He all but spits and well – not exactly as cool and calm as he wanted to be.

Zayn raises his eyebrows, but doesn’t say anything as Harry eyes the stranger.

“Henry,” he offers his hand.

Harry bristles, ignoring the greeting to slide in the booth on Zayn’s opposite side. He tucks himself in closer than Henry is and swings an arm around him for good measure. Niall’s still standing, watching Zayn’s face carefully.

“Hi,” Harry smiles, squeezing Zayn’s shoulders.

“You’re drunk,” Zayn says in a low voice, not making a move towards him.

“Yeah,” Harry nods, reaching for Zayn’s half empty glass.

Zayn’s too quick though. He grabs the cup, sploshing some of it onto his hand. Harry wants to lick it off.

“You’re out of it,” Zayn shakes his head, lifting Harry’s arm off of him.

Harry hadn’t thought he’d said it out loud, but Niall’s laughing loudly and Henry doesn’t look impressed.

Well, good. Harry thinks bitterly.

“Come dance again Haz,” Niall suggests.

Harry shakes his head. He wants to stay in the presence of Zayn, wants to snuggle under his arm and inhale his spicy cologne.

“Go, Hazza, c’mon.” Zayn gives him a shove, wobbling Harry onto his legs.

Niall takes his hand, leading him back to the throng of bodies. “Wanna go back to Zayn,” he mumbles pathetically.

“He’s busy,” Niall grunts, taking Harry’s sweaty hands and making him sway side to side.

“He could be busy with me,” he frowns.

“No he can’t. Now come on, seduce the boys.”

Harry pouts, but does as he’s told. He shakes his hips and lets the EDM throb through his veins. The lights are flashy and the bass pounds and he’d like more than anything for the hips gyrating into his to be Zayn’s.

When he turns around, it’s an older gentleman. He’s quite a bit older than Harry’s previous pulls. He’s got salt and pepper lining his hairline and it recedes back into his black hair. He’s good looking, as good looking as a 40 year old bloke can be.

“Hey,” he says, voice deep. Harry imagines his life, his children, his gorgeous wife.

“Hi,” Harry nods, taking the man’s hands and placing them on his waist. He pushes back, wiggling his hips until the man’s breath starts to stutter.

“M’Michael,” Harry nods again, doesn’t care much for the pleasantries. “What’s your name?”

“Does it matter?” Harry asks, suddenly irritated.

The man shakes his head, squeezing Harry’s hips and pushing his evident erection into Harry’s backside. He’s wearing dress trousers, then feel expensive as Harry turns around, putting his hands in Michael’s pocket.

“Wanna go to the loo?”

Michael shakes his head, he probably doesn’t trust Harry yet.

“Buy me a drink?” That gets Michael’s agreement and then they’re prancing over to get another drink.

Harry sits through a half hour of Michael talking about his life. He’s an investment banker, or a broker or something. It’s dull and drab and Harry sips his drink slowly as Michael guzzles it down like a fish.

He can’t find Niall and sure as hell can’t find Zayn. He’s wondering what he’s doing – if he’s with Henry right now, in a back alley or in the bathroom or in Henry’s apartment. Harry doesn’t want him to be with Henry. He wishes Zayn’s hand was on his knee, Zayn’s stale breath was hitting his face, and Zayn’s eyes were looking at him expectantly.

“I’m not keeping you am I?”

Harry shakes his head. He’s sobered up a bit. “Want to get out of here?”

They find themselves in a hotel. It’s swanky and luxurious and Harry’s never felt more like a sex worker than he does now. It’s not as if he gets paid and it’s not as if he actually intends on sleeping with this man. He’s got one thing on his mind and he’ll get it.

Michael surprises him though; he undresses Harry as soon as he steps through the threshold and then he takes off his own shirt, a white button up that was much too formal for the club. “You legal?” Michael asks to which Harry nods, laughs a bit.

“Have been for a while.”

Michael doesn’t question him. He just crowds into Harry’s space and kisses him. He tastes like scotch, his mouth too wet for the kiss to be enjoyable. Michael is much more into their hookup than Harry is and he wonders if he’s done this in a while. If he’s eager to get off and fool around with someone half his age.

Harry’s happy to provide his services as long as he gets what he wants.

So with Michael’s hand around his dick, Harry kisses his neck, murmuring how great he feels and that he can’t wait to feel him. He digs the little baggy out of his pocket and slips it into Michael’s mouth without hesitance. Michael sucks on the fingers that fed the drug to him, telling Harry that he can’t wait for him to suck his dick. Harry groans, kissing Michael to get him to just shut up.

It seems to spur Michael on, his chest heaving quicker and his hand pumping faster. Harry waits until Michael’s pupils start to swell, until he has to thrust his hips and then he bites Michael’s neck while he comes. Michael groans, not completely out of it yet.

It doesn’t deter Harry. He walks them back until Michael’s laying on the bed and then he straddles him. He sucks and sucks and sucks up some blood, careful not to spill on the white duvet beneath them. Michael goes limp against the sheets and Harry pulls off, feeling his pulse on his wrist. It’s weak, but there and he licks over the tiny marks until they’re faded.

Grabbing a flannel, Harry wets it with warm water before rubbing his come off the stranger. The last thing he needs is this psycho going to the cops and telling them he’s been drugged.

Harry grabs his trousers and puts on his shoes, exiting hotel and going home.

When he gets there, he sees Zayn’s shoes by the entryway. As expected, there’s no other shoes alongside theirs and he sneaks his way into Zayn’s room. He’s shirtless and asleep, chest rising and falling in the moonlight. He’s no doubt fed.

Harry shucks off his clothes, getting down to his boxers and then curls up in bed with him.

Zayn grunts, turning into Harry’s arm. Harry pats Zayn’s hair down, smoothing it against his head in a way Zayn would normally protest. He was wound up when he got home, but now all he wants it to lie with Zayn.

It’s the only time Zayn allows Harry in his bed and it hurts to feel the disconnect between them.

When they had started hanging out, it was platonic. The eighteen fifties weren’t a time of open sexual intercourse between two men and Zayn had had a lovely fiancé. But their lifestyle had made them flee, abandoning the lives they knew and relying on each other. They were partners in crime, best friends, needing one another more than anyone else.

Except – Zayn didn’t love Harry like Harry loved Zayn. It was obvious, evident in the way Zayn would shake off any of Harry’s advances, not mentioning Harry’s long hugs and sloppy cheek kisses.

Harry only started feeling the space between them in the past several months, since just after October when the days got shorter and the nights got colder. Harry loved curling up and Zayn always indulged him in it, letting Harry bury his nose in his chest and kiss the little lips inked into his skin.

It’s just. Zayn had started locking his door until Harry got the hint to sleep in his own room.

Harry’s not going to take this cuddle for granted.

-

Harry wakes up warm and alone. Zayn’s side of the bed is cold, but that’s nothing new, he’s got a job to go to and he’s never woken Harry when he left for it before.

But, when he doesn’t come home until after dinner’s on the table, Harry calls Niall for a night on the town.

Niall’s always willing to go out, always willing to practice his pulling technique with someone who’s been in the game for years.

The bar is one they’ve been too enough to know the bouncers and bartenders. They get in for free along with their first round of beer. Harry doesn’t like it, but he’s not about to complain when there’s a fit bird winking at him from down the counter.

“You’re a dog,” Niall huffs, shaking his head. Harry shrugs, flattered. “S’not fair, everyone wants you.”

“Not everyone,” Harry says sourly. He’s been bitter as hell all night and seeing Niall be as jovial as he always is has just made his bad mood worse.

“None of that Haz.”

“He didn’t come home today,” Harry explains, looking into his empty pint glass.

“Harry,” Niall starts, but Harry shakes his head.

“He was fine, we were fine for so long.”

“Don’t be sad, Haz.”

“I can’t not Niall. I love him, I love him and he’s been ignoring me for months.”

“He’ll come around, give him time.”

“I don’t know how.”

Niall grips his knee, squeezing tight until Harry looks up at him with glassy eyes. “What do you want to do about it?”

“Make him love me.”

“Haz, don’t be like this. You’re young,” he laughs a bit when Harry glares at him. “You’ve spent nearly your entire life with Zayn, maybe you should get out for a bit.”

“No,” Harry vehemently shakes his head, “I’m not leaving him.”

“Maybe you should mate, you’re miserable.”

Harry shakes his head again, curls flying wildly. He doesn’t want to listen to this, doesn’t want to hear about how much better his life would be without Zayn because it wouldn’t be. He doesn’t know what Niall’s said to Zayn, if Zayn’s said he wants to move out and – oh God, oh God. No. Harry can’t think of that.

He gets spectacularly shitfaced.

-

Each day is worse than the next, each week longer than the last.

Harry spends as much time at work as possible, but there’s only so many times he can pretend that he’s got organizing to do until Grimmy kicks him out for the day.

“You’ve got a fit boy waiting for you at home,” he winks and it’s a stab to the heart that Harry wasn’t expecting.

Everyone thinks they’re an item – or at least, everyone at work. They don’t know how wrong they are about their living arrangement and Harry hadn’t wanted to deny it when they started teasing him. It was flattering as hell and he had just blushed and shook his head. Now, he wants nothing more than to tell him about how unsexual their relationship is.

He gets home tired, wary of the mood Zayn’s going to be in.

Kicking his shoes off, Harry goes to the kitchen to start dinner. He’s stirring pesto sauce in a small pan, cooking chicken and peppers in another pan while water boils away. He shakes his hips as he grabs some noodles, dancing to a mindless tune that’s been stuck in a loop since he left the office.

“Hey,” Zayn says, leaning against the doorframe. He’s got a towel around his waist and nothing more, a cigarette dangling from his lips.

“Hi,” Harry smiles, alarmed from the interruption and taken away by the way he looks. His hairs in a bun atop his head, but his hair’s still wet.

“Smells good,” he smiles back and Harry nods, stricken by the attention.

“Shouldn’t smoke in here.”

“Shouldn’t do a lot of things, H.”

In a moment of bravery, or maybe stupidity, Harry explores. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Zayn shrugs, sucking on the cig so it glows amber.

“Zayn, c’mon. What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing, Haz. Just, things are a bit different now, don’t you think?”

“No,” Harry snaps, water boiling over the edge and spilling onto the stovetop. Harry turns, feeling his chest constrict as he stirs the noodles into the bubbling water. “No, what’s different.”

“Just, stuff.” Zayn walks to the dining table, where there’s an ashtray in the middle, right next to a vase of flowers.

“Zayn.”

“I don’t know Harry. I’m just getting tired of it all. Tired of London and feeding at clubs, I don’t know.”

“We can move,” Harry suggests quickly.

“Harry-”

“We can move, we can. We’ve done it before, we’ll do it again. And again and again and again.”

“But aren’t you tired of that?” Zayn asks. He doesn’t shout, doesn’t raise his voice and explode like Harry’d prefer. Always in control, Zayn is.

“No. Maybe. I don’t know. I’d do it for you.”

“Maybe that’s just it Haz, maybe we’re not meant to keep doing this together. Niall might head back to Ireland-”

“We’ll go! We can go tonight, let’s go,” Harry says urgently, ignoring the smell of burnt chicken.

“You love it here-”

“I love you!” Harry all but shrieks.

It’s not the first time he’s said it, but it’s the first time he’s said it anything other than casually and it’s the first time he’s said it seriously. It’s the first time he’s said it with sweeping emotion and Zayn’s stoney face is all the answer he needs.

“Haz,” he says evenly. He doesn’t look surprised in the slightest.

“Fuck, never mind Zayn,” Harry shakes his head, turning towards the stove and feeling tears edge their way to his lash lines.

He can feel his chest shaking, heartrate skyrocketing. He moves the burning chicken, lowering the temperatures aggressively.

“Harry,” Zayn says softer, careful.

“Its fine, Zayn.”

“Harry, stop.” Harry does as he’s told, letting go of the handle of the saucepan.

Harry turns around and Zayn’s right there. His hands go to Zayn’s hips and then Zayn’s grabbing him around the neck and kissing him.

It’s – it’s everything he never expected from Zayn.

It’s tentative and a bit dry, so Harry pulls back to lick his lips, kissing him more urgently because he wants and wants and wants so much.

“Zayn,” Harry pants, overwhelmed just from how he tastes. He never liked the taste of cigarettes – the smell gives him a headache and the smoke irritates his asthma. But on Zayn, on Zayn the bitterness is nearly sweet, his tongue carefully licking into Harry’s mouth until it’s all he can focus on.

“Shh,” Zayn comforts, nipping on Harry’s lips, then his jaw. His fangs are retracted, as he bites onto Harry’s flesh, right where Harry usually attacks and it’s heady to have Zayn pushing him against the counter.

He knows he should move the pans off the burners, but he doesn’t want to move away from the circle of Zayn’s arms. He’s s so frightened that Zayn’s going to pull away that he whines to get him to kiss him again. He wants so bad, has over a hundred years of want and lust stirring within him.

“Want you so bad Zayn,” Harry whines, hips cantering towards him. Harry’s getting hard quite quickly, was half hard just from seeing Zayn in a towel.

“Come on then,” Zayn whispers, licking his lips.

Harry doesn’t even try to contain his excitement, he flips them until Zayn’s the one against the counter, dropping to his knees even though it tugs on his dick. Zayn’s the one to undo his towel and then it’s on the floor, his dick right in Harry’s face.

He’s seen it before, you don’t live together for a century without some accidental peeking.

Zayn’s hard and thick. He’s not as long as Harry, but it’s Zayn, so it’s not that it matters. All Harry wants is to suck him for as long as possible. But first, but first he just wants a taste.

He grabs the back of Zayn’s thighs, pulling himself closer until he can lick at the tip of Zayn’s dick. Zayn holds it for him, watching as Harry’s lips close around it and suck. He tastes a bit like soap, but it’s mostly Zayn and Harry can’t tease him, can’t tease himself and so he wills his jaw to relax as he gets close to Zayn’s fingers.

He hasn’t sucked someone off since summer. It’s far too intimate a gesture for his one offs and he prefers not to get all dirty in a club bathroom. “Yeah,” Zayn grunts as the tip of Zayn reaches the back of his throat.

Pulling off before he can choke, Harry gets a lungful of air. He licks around his mouth, before looking at Zayn. His chest is bloomed pink and his cheeks match. The fact that he’s affected has Harry redoubling his efforts.

He digs his fingers into Zayn’s skin, pulling him more into his mouth as Zayn rocks his hips forward. He starts to properly fuck Harry’s mouth until Harry’s moans are gargled by Zayn’s precome. Harry has to back off, has to nibble on his hairy thighs to tease him that much more.

“Touch yourself,” Zayn commands and oh. His voice is gruff and it’s more of a grunt than it is anything else. Harry’s not one to disagree, and would never disagree with Zayn so he reluctantly lets go of Zayn’s thighs to undo his pants and get his dick out. “Haz, hurry up.”

When Harry turns his cheek, he’s met with Zayn’s cockhead slapping his cheek. It’s wet and slick and Harry knows there’s a bit of precome on his cheek, but he can’t even try to lick it off as Zayn’s already feeding him his cock.

Harry bobs his head, sucking and getting his mouth fucked as he jacks himself off. He’s close, so fucking close to coming that all he can think about is keeping his jaw slack and his lips tight. He’s breathing harsh through his nose, the scent of sweat and sex – Zayn’s sweat and sex has him whining, gagging, but Zayn doesn’t stop and Harry’s sure as hell not going to miss the chance to swallow Zayn down.

And then – and then Zayn does the unthinkable and grabs the back of Harry’s head.

Harry’s eyes flutter when Zayn tips his head back, pulling on his hair tightly. He tries to say his name, but nothing comes out other than a moan.

“Close?” Zayn asks and Harry tries to nod. “Look at me,” he says.

When Harry’s eyes fly open he can’t believe what he sees. Zayn looks just as disheveled as Harry. Pride runs through him, he did that. He made Zayn look flushed and beautiful, made the small smile that creeps on his lips appear.

“Fuck,” Zayn grunts before he spills into Harry’s mouth. Harry swallows eagerly and what he can’t spills out of his mouth. In a selfish attempt to chase it all, Harry closes his eyes and licks his lips.

They’re shocked open when he feels Zayn’s hand on his dick, mouth back on his own.

“Zayn,” he whines, bucking his hips until Zayn brushes his hand away. Zayn takes his softening dick into his hand and just barely wraps his hand around Harry’s until Harry bucks, coming before Zayn’s even jacked them both off.

They sit like that for a while, Zayn naked against the cupboards and Harry sitting cross legged with his dick out.

“Please don’t go,” Harry whispers. He can’t find it in him to say it any louder, but he’s not opposed to begging.

“Harry,” Zayn sighs and Harry’s eyes flick to him. After that – after everything they’ve gone through, it would kill Harry to hear him reject him. He’d rather spend an eternity turning into a vampire – which was absolute hell – than spend his life without Zayn.

“Please Zayn.”

“C’mere.” Zayn opens his arms, Harry crawling into them, wary of where he puts his knee. “I was stupid,” Zayn says to which Harry nods.

“I love you,” Harry says because if this is a goodbye hug, if this is the last conversation they have, he’ll never forgive himself for only saying it once.

“I love you too, idiot,” he mumbles before turning Harry’s cheek.

“Zayn,” Harry says, eyes filling up with salty tears.

“Shh, we have a lot to make up for.”

“Hundred years,” Harry murmurs, meeting him for a kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> hope y'all enjoyed that!  
> sorry the ending was soppy as hell, but i couldn't help it!!  
> you can find me on [tumblr](www.vinoharry.tumblr.com/ask)
> 
> come say hi!


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